


Shards of Sunlight in a Box

by stepmnstr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Other, Self-Harm, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepmnstr/pseuds/stepmnstr
Summary: A peek inside the mind of a cutter.A/N : The change from first to second person is deliberate





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

.

disclaimer : belong to pretty blonde lady who also has all the  
money. i just like to take them and with mess thier heads

 

 

It’s always gloomy here. Even when the sun is shining it’s gloomy here. Not quite as bad as Number 12 Grimmauld Place but close very close. Number 4 Privet Drive ranks just above Hogwarts as the gloomiest in all of Great Britain for me anymore. Of course I suppose these days I would find The Burrow gloomy. 

I like that word. Gloomy. Dark. Depressing. Dim. Ominous. Depressing. Dismal. Murky. Shadowy. I wish I knew more languages so I could continue the list. 

At least I can be the gloomy, doomy freak here. I’m not on display. I’m not expected to do anything but work and write a letter once every three days. No one even cares what is in the letter just as long as Hedwig carries it and it’s in my writing. I wonder what would happen if I just wrote them the truth. Hey almost smiled at that one. 

It’s time to write the letter for Thursday. Prep time first.

Step one: open floorboard.  
Step two: remove box.   
Step three: gather letter-writing supplies  
Step four: place letter-writing supplies on desk  
Step five: take box over to bed  
Step six: open box 

Oh such nice shiny bright sharp things waiting for me. Catching the light and reflecting it back to me. Cold and bright, sharp and waiting patiently for the day when it will be their turn. This box holds the only brightness in my life anymore. Rationed out so carefully, hoarded against a greater need. Muggle magic meeting needs that the damn wizarding world doesn’t even acknowledge. I wish it had never acknowledged me.

Step seven: pick one blade. Choose carefully.

Look them over carefully; see which one calls to you today. The straight razor you found in the attic, the razor blades you knicked from the corner store, the broken blade off Dudley’s pocketknife, the pairing knife Petunia thinks the Dispos-All ate, sharpened drill bit, the trans figured needles, the shard of glass from that potions vial or the one from the broken window? Which shall it be today? Yes, the glass from the vial. Sharp, shiny biting, a choice that tears as much as cuts. 

Step eight: close the box. No changing your mind. Once made for the day the choice is irrevocable.

Step nine: remove your shirt. 

Look at the lines that already inscribed. Is there a design to complete today? Or do you start a new one? Tracing over old lines or begin again on a fresh piece of skin? 

Step ten: begin.

Feed the craving for that first bite, the smoldering embers of feelings burst into flame for as long as the blood runs freely. Just long enough to write the damn letter not long enough to allow any of the feelings to actually escape onto the parchment. 

Step eleven: write the damn letter. This one goes to Professor Lupin.

Yes, I am still alive. I am fine as I can be here. They aren’t treating me any worse then usual. (Not treating me any better either goes unwritten.) No, I don’t need anyone to come and check on me. See you at the station on the first of September.

Harry

Step twelve: roll parchment and give to Hedwig.

 

I watch the blood drip and run down my chest letting out everything I feel but can’t express, can’t say, aren’t allowed to feel aren’t allowed to have. I wait for the tears, implore for them, wish for them, yearn for them. Pain is supposed to make you cry not give this illusion of freedom, of flight, of floating. Fingers in the cut pulling at it, expanding it, exploring it, opening it. Let the air in feel it mixing with the bloods changing it from dark red to bright red of the Gryffindor I am supposed to be. Tears are supposed to be cleansing, healing, healthy and that I guess that is why they never come. I don’t deserve them.


End file.
